“Take her away! Take away that one with the veil. Don’t let her torture me. I know who she is. I know.”
He had no sleep that night or the day and night after (on top of the pain from his leg, he coughed as if his chest would burst), and whenever our backs were turned Batta would be taking him in more wine. I was not much in the Bedchamber myself, for the sight of me made him frantic. He kept on saying he knew who I was for all my veil.
“Master,” said the Fox, “it is only the Princess Orual, your daughter.”
“Aye, so she tells you,” the King would say. “But I know better. Wasn’t she using red–hot iron on my leg all night? I know who she is … Aiai! Aiai! Guards! Bardia! Orual! Batta! Take her away!”
On the third night the Second Priest and Bardia and the Fox and I all stood just outside his door and talked in whispers. The Second Priest’s name was Arnom; he was a dark man, no older than I, smooth–cheeked as a eunuch (which he cannot have been, for though Ungit has eunuchs, only a weaponed man can hold the full priesthood).
“It’s likely,” said Arnom, “that this will end in the King’s death.”
“So,” thought I. “This is how it will begin. There’ll be a new world in Glome, and if I get off with my life, I shall be driven out. I too shall be a Psyche.”
“I think the same,” said the Fox. “And it comes at a ticklish time. There’s much business before us.”
“More than you think, Lysias,” said Arnom (I had never heard the Fox called by his real name before). “The house of Ungit is in the very same plight as the King’s house.”
“What do you mean, Arnom?” said Bardia.
“The Priest is dying at last. If I have any skill, he’ll not last five days.”
“And you to succeed him?” said Bardia. The priest bowed his head.
“Unless the King forbids,” added the Fox. This was good law in Glome.
“It’s very necessary,” said Bardia, “that Ungit and the palace should be of one mind at such a moment. There are those who’d see their chance of setting Glome by the ears otherwise.”
“Yes, very necessary,” said Arnom. “No one will rise against us both.”
“It’s our good fortune,” said Bardia, “that there’s no cause of quarrel between the Queen and Ungit.”
“The Queen?” said Arnom.
“The Queen,” said Bardia and the Fox now both together.
“If only the Princess were married, now!” said Arnom, bowing very courteously. “A woman cannot lead the armies of Glome in war.”
“This Queen can,” said Bardia; and the way he thrust out his lower jaw made him seem a whole army himself. I saw Arnom looking at me hard, and I think my veil served me better than the boldest countenance in the world; maybe better than beauty would have done.
“There is only one difference between Ungit and the King’s house,” he said, “and that concerns the Crumbles. But for the King’s sickness and the Priest’s I would have been here before now to speak of it.”
I knew all about this and saw now where we were. The Crumbles was good land on the far side of the river, and it had been a cat–and–dog quarrel ever since I started working for my father as to whether they belonged, or how much of them belonged, to the King or to Ungit. I had always thought (little cause as I had to love Ungit) that they should belong to her house; which was indeed poorly provided for the charge of continual sacrifices. And I thought too that if once Ungit were reasonably furnished with land, the priests could be stopped from wringing so much out of the common people by way of gifts.
“The King still lives,” said I; I had not spoken before, and my voice surprised them all. “But because of his sickness I am now the King’s mouth. It is his wish to give the Crumbles to Ungit, free and for ever, and the covenant to be cut in stone, upon one condition.”
Bardia and the Fox looked at me with wonder. But Arnom said, “What is that, Lady?”
“That Ungit’s guards be henceforward under the captain of the King’s guard, and chosen by the King (or his successor), and under his obedience.”
“And paid by the King (or his successors) too?” says Arnom quick as lightning.
I had not thought of this stroke, but I judged any resolute answer better than the wisest pondering. “That,” said I, “must be according to the hours of duty they spend in Ungit’s house and here.”
“You drive—that is, the King drives—a hard bargain, Lady,” said the priest. But I knew he would take it, for I knew that Ungit had more need of good land than of spears. Also, it would be hard for Arnom to succeed to the Priesthood if the palace was against him. Then my father began roaring out from within and the priest went back to him.
“Well done, daughter,” whispered the Fox.
“Long live the Queen,” whispered Bardia. Then they both followed Arnom.
I stood outside in the great hall, which was empty, and the fire low. It was as strange a moment as any in my life. To be a queen—that would not sweeten the bitter water against which I had been building the dam in my soul. It might strengthen the dam, though. Then, as a quite different thing, came the thought that my father would be dead. That struck me dizzy. The largeness of a world in which he was not … the clear light of a sky in which that cloud would no longer hang … freedom. I drew in a long breath; one way, the sweetest I had ever drawn. I came near to forgetting my great central sorrow.
But only for a moment. It was very still, and most of the household was in bed. I thought I heard a sound of weeping; a girl’s weeping; the sound for which always, with or without my will, I was listening. It seemed to come from without, from behind the palace. Instantly crowns and policies and my father were a thousand leagues from my mind. In a torture of hope I went swiftly to the other end of the hall and then out by the little door between the dairy and the guard’s quarters. The moon was shining, but the air was not so still as I thought. And where now was the weeping? Then I thought I heard it again. “Psyche,” I called. “Istra! Psyche!” I went to the sound. Now I was less sure what it was. I remembered that when the chains of the well swung a little (and there had been breeze enough to sway them just now) they could make a noise something like that. Oh, the cheat of it, the bitterness!
I stood and listened. There was no more weeping. But something was moving somewhere. Then I saw a cloaked form dart across a patch of moonlight and bury itself in some bushes. I was after it, quick as I could. Next moment I plunged my hand in among the branches. Another hand met it.
“Softly, sweetheart,” said a voice. “Take me to the King’s threshold.”
It was a wholly strange voice, and a man’s.
17. XVII
“Who are you?” said I, wrenching my hand free and leaping back as if I had touched a snake. “Come out and show yourself.” My thought was that it must be a lover of Redival’s, and that Batta was playing bawd as well as jailer.
A slender, tall man stepped out. “A suppliant,” he said, but with a merriment in his voice that did not sound like supplication. “And one who never let a pretty girl go without a kiss.”
He’d have had an arm around my neck in a moment if I hadn’t avoided him. Then he saw my dagger point twinkle in the moonlight; and laughed.